


coffee blossoms

by wintersrose616



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Falling In Love, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24173059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersrose616/pseuds/wintersrose616
Summary: “I’m bored.”“I can’t help you there, buddy,” Sylvain tells him, when Claude huffs a whined breath.“Yeah, you can. Tell me more about your crush.”Sylvain splutters, glancing over to him. Claude’s got a mischievous expression, eyes narrowed in that way that tells Sylvain if he’s not careful, he’ll be walking into a trap. Which is ridiculous. He’s told Claude about Dedue, but never framed it as acrush. He doesn’t get crushes. He’s not sure he can feel anything more than attraction, and even then, it’s fleeting. Whatever he’s feeling for Dedue is a bit more, but definitely not a crush.He tells Claude as such, who just nods along, as if he’s humouring him more than anything..Sylvain manages to do the one thing he was certain he'd never do—fall in love. It doesn't exactly help that he falls for the barista who makes his coffee.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 42
Kudos: 140





	coffee blossoms

The first time Sylvain walks into the coffee shop, he all but stumbles inside, fifteen minutes late for his morning lecture that he will _definitely_ not be going to. 

He’s passed by the shop so many times it’s laughable that he stops there _today_ of all days. Normally, he’s always walking with someone else, and his focus would be on them instead. His gaze always brushes over the plantlife arching around the doorway, and the bright and hand-painted logo reading _Coffee Blossoms_ in the main window, but he never pays it any more heed than it’s needed. It’s one of many coffeeshops littering the streetways around the university’s campus.

He’s alone today, though, and extremely grumpy though he tries not to let that reflect. Dorothea had a last minute _situation_ happen the night before. The amount of texts he has from her all but begging for him to cover her shift was, he’s almost certain, the most she’s ever willingly conversed with him outside of work or classes. Even the last text, received right when he managed to stumble through the bar doors _on time_ , was devoid of words, just a string of heart emojis and prayer hands. He had texted her _you owe me_. 

She had left him on read. 

The coffeeshop is bigger than he had imagined it’d be from the unassuming brick exterior. He blames the interior of the shop for making it look so comfortable. There’s seating along the walls and tables scattered throughout the floor. Across the way, where the coffee bar is, there’s a small cluster of baskets with coffee bags and other assorted pastry items wrapped up to go. Sylvain’s eyes drift over the greenery inside. There’s hardly any bare spots on the walls—the entire place is filled with flowers and other plants. The floral aroma mixing with the bouquet of freshly ground coffee immediately lifts Sylvain’s mood from _cranky_ to _tolerable_.

The shop isn’t busy, which Sylvain’s grateful for as he walks in, letting his eyes wander. There’s what looks like a student in the far corner, pressed away from where the sunbeams dance across the floor from the wide windows, hunched over a laptop with bulky headphones on. The drink in front of them is already half drank and they look content to ignore the world much in the way Sylvain wishes he could. 

A deep, rumbling voice quickly snaps Sylvain’s attention back to the barista behind the counter. He’s tall—taller than Sylvain, and broader, too. His silver hair is tied back in a small tail, the rest on the sides of his head shaved down. He greets Sylvain with a standard, bland greeting that Sylvain _knows_ should not have made his heart thump as he moves closer. He works in the customer service industry, too. He knows how it goes.

“Hi, hello.” He pauses, clearing his throat at the unimpressed look the man behind the counter gives him. Sylvain understands, at least. He looks like a sleep-deprived mess. He flicks his eyes away from stormy-blue to the board behind the barista, the names of different coffees and teas all melding together into an incomprehensible mess. “Sorry, I’ve never been here before.”

An eyebrow raises. “Would you like a suggestion? Or you could tell me what you usually get elsewhere, and I can tell you if we’ve got something similar.”

Sylvain has tried to barrel through enough conversations before to know when he’s being rushed through one. Again, he gets it. It’s eight-thirty in the morning on a Tuesday and no one else is in the shop except for the person in the corner. “I like sweet drinks,” he says. “Caramel, preferably iced, but I’m not picky.” He pauses. “Do you guys do whipped cream?”

The man huffs a breath that could’ve been amusement. Sylvain can’t fully tell. He’s still trying to process the fact that he’s _awake_. 

“We have an iced caramel drink,” he says, “mixed with milk and an espresso shot. And, yes, we do whipped cream.”

“I trust your wisdom,” Sylvain says. “I’ll take a large of whatever it’s called, please.”

Dedue, based on the name tag on his apron, punches in a drink in the register, the total coming up to seven and change. There’s a tip jar at Sylvain’s elbow, adorably decorated with paper flowers and swirling writing. Despite the desire to add to it, he has no cash, and no way to add a tip with his card. He makes a note to bring extra money the next time he comes in as he inserts his card. _If_ he comes in again, he thinks. He supposes it all depends on how good this coffee is.

He steps aside to wait at the end of the counter, watching Dedue grab a cup and make a few marks down before he starts getting to work on the drink itself. Sylvain watches him move, trying his hardest to _not_ notice the way his shirt stretches over his bicep as he goes to make an espresso shot. He’s halfway through swirling the mixture together when the swing door behind the counter opens and a brightly voiced man walks out. 

“Dedue, I can cover your break!” 

“I’m just finishing up this drink,” Dedue answers, tilting his head to gesture towards Sylvain. “I’ll be ready in a moment.”

Sylvain vaguely recognizes the new worker, which concerns him more than anything else happening that morning had. His silver hair’s pinned back with neon-coloured bobbies, his eyes going to Sylvain. Sylvain quickly averts his gaze when their eyes meet—while he’s not entirely sure how he knows him, but he has a feeling their first meeting probably can’t have ended well if he can’t even remember it.

He chances a glance back when he hears the familiar sound of a whipped cream being dispensed through an aerosol can. He’s still being openly stared at while Dedue tops off his drink with copious amounts of whipped topping. His eyes flick down, reading the matching name tag on his apron. _Ashe_. Sylvain feels his brows pinch. Still only _vaguely_ familiar, nothing enough to solidify just—

“Oh!” Ashe exclaims, clapping his hands together. “French Onion Soup Mix!” 

Sylvain jolts, startled, glancing to Dedue to see if he has any idea why he’s been shouted at, but Dedue’s staring at the back of his coworker’s head in mild confusion.

“Uh. . .what?” 

“French Onion Soup Mix,” Ashe repeats. “That’s how I know you! Though I’m sure you guys gave him a different name, right?”

Sylvain pauses, then blinks. “Oh! _Oh!_ ” 

French Onion Soup Mix. The name of the cat Felix had adopted nearly four months ago. While Sylvain had insisted on Felix renaming the beast, Felix had steadfastly refused, only relenting to shortening it to _Soup_ , except for vet visits. Ashe had been one of the workers at the adoption center. _That’s_ why Sylvain recognized him, not from a tryst that went south. It’s a first for him.

“Right, yeah, my roommate’s cat,” Sylvain says, nodding. “He loves that thing more than I think he loves any other person.”

Ashe beams, bright and happy. “What did he rename him?” 

“Oh, he didn’t,” Sylvain answers, matching his smile with a grin of his own. “We just call him Soup.”

Ashe blinks, face falling into brief confusion, but Dedue sidles behind him, reaching out the cup of coffee.

“Here you are.”

“Thank you,” Sylvain says. “ _So much_. You’re a lifesaver.” He tosses them both a wink. “I’ll give Soup some love for you.”

“Oh!” Ashe grins. “Please do!” 

As Sylvain makes his way out the shop, he hears Dedue’s puzzled, “French Onion Soup Mix?” float out from behind the counter, and can’t stop the smile on his face.

**.**

Sylvain doesn’t mean to stop the next day, but Felix sends him a text when he’s halfway to campus. Wednesdays are a later start for Sylvain compared to Felix, mostly due to Fe’s outright insistence of going for a run at the crack of dawn. Sylvain is wholly unimpressed by the text from him, sent before they usually meet up to camp out in the student lounge before their first lectures. _Need tea._ Sylvain sends him a thumbs up emoji, and makes a pit stop.

Dedue is not behind the counter, which gives him a slight twinge of disappointment he doesn’t have it in him to properly evaluate at the moment. The young woman behind the counter greets him, enthusiastic and bubbly. Her name tag, unlike Dedue and Ashe’s the day prior, is handwritten, the swirling letters that match the writing on the tip jar reading _Annette_.

“Good morning! What can I get started for you?” 

Sylvain opens his mouth, ready to order, but stops short. "Sorry, I actually have no idea what I want. I got this iced caramel drink yesterday, but don't know what it was called. I just told the guy behind the counter what I wanted and he was _magic_."

"Yesterday morning?" At Sylvain's nod, her lips purse in thought. "Do you remember if it was Dedue or Ashe who made your drink? Dedue's really, _really_ tall, and Ashe is—”

"It was Dedue," Sylvain answers, probably too quickly. He tries to amend with, "I've met Ashe before; my roommate adopted a cat from him." _Stop talking, Gautier_ , he tells himself. _You're better than this._

He isn't, but that's besides the point.

Annette's eyes brighten regardless. "Give me one sec!"

He watches as she all but prances through the swing door, trying to piece together just why the thought of Dedue, a _stranger_ , makes him fumble over his words like it's a schoolyard crush. Sylvain doesn't get crushes, especially on—admittedly, very handsome—strangers. Strangers who make the best coffee he's had. _Hmm_.

He doesn't have time to reflect anymore. Annette returns, followed by Dedue, and Sylvain almost stops breathing when their eyes meet.

"Ah, yes, I do remember him, Annie," he murmurs. "I can handle it."

"No," Annette says, looking fiercely determined. "Just tell him what the drink was called, I can make it!"

Dedue smiles down at her with such fondness Sylvain almost feels jealous. He doesn't think anyone's ever looked at him with that much soft affection before. Not that he has done anything to _deserve_ soft affection, but still.

Dedue's voice is as charming as his face, and Sylvain falls into a lull of wanting nothing more than to listen to him talk more and more. Unfortunately, he's asking Sylvain a question, and the spell breaks when he's forced to answer.

"You would like the same iced drink from yesterday?"

"Ah—yes. Yes, please. That would be great. Thank you."

He has spoken less than fifty words to this man altogether and he curses himself for how he stutters. He's far better at flirting than this, almost wishes he could walk out and start the day over again, but that's a fool's dream. He tells himself next time, he'll be prepared. 

When Dedue glances up from the register after informing Sylvain of the shop's speciality name for the caramel drink, asking if he would like anything else, he almost forgets the main reason he came here today was tea for Felix. He hastily adds it to his order, pulling out cash to pay. When Dedue gives him the change, he sends the whole lot of it into the tip jar with the grace of a drunkard stumbling towards a bathroom.

Dedue gives him a tiny, minute smile, more out of obligation than pleasure, Sylvain thinks, as he thanks him. Before Sylvain can step away, Dedue lifts his eyes and asks another question.

"How is French Onion Soup Mix?" 

He frowns briefly at the end of the long name, and Sylvain can't fight the grin on his face. Annette, at Dedue's elbow, reaching impatiently for the cups to start making drinks, pauses, brows furrowing as her face contorts.

_"Wha—?"_

Sylvain's still grinning. "He's great. My roommate spoils him rotten." He pulls his phone out, going through his photos to find the one of Soup camped out in the midst of Felix's bed while the back of Felix's head is just visible over the edge as he sits crouched on the floor to play a video game without disturbing Soup's nap. Dedue smiles at the picture while Annette downright _coos._

"He is _so_ cute!" she says, but pauses right after the declaration. "Oh, wait, hold on! I need a name for the drinks!"

"That truly only applies when we have a line, Annie," Dedue says, but he glances to Sylvain. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to get your name for the drinks, though."

Sylvain blinks. "Oh, right. Yeah. I'm Sylvain."

Annette makes a triumphant noise, the marker in her hand delicately going over the two cups Dedue hands her. Sylvain moves down the counter to wait, watching as Annette determinedly reads over the markings on his iced coffee cup. Dedue watches her for only a moment before sneaking the cup for Felix’s tea away from her line of vision and gets to work on that.

He does his best to not watch Dedue, trying to keep his eyes on Annette, but they stray. He can’t _truly_ blame himself. While Annette is cute in an adorable way that reminds Sylvain of a baby animal, Dedue is a _masterpiece_. His hair is still tied up the same way as it had been the day prior, not a single strand falling into his bright eyes. There’s an earring in his ear that shimmers whenever the overhead light catches it, and it draws Sylvain’s attention along the strong jawline Sylvain thinks would be an absolute delight to kiss down.

Sylvain wonders how easy it would be to slip him his number, but the logistics of that are nearly moot. Even if he succeeded, he doesn’t want Dedue to end up like any of his past trysts.

Especially when he’s just found his new favourite place to get coffee. 

Annette finishes his iced drink with a heaping top of whipped cream, drizzling a caramel syrup on top of it that has Sylvain smiling from the inevitable toothache he’ll get. Dedue hands him the cup of tea, giving Annette a small smile when she proffers the other cup with a flourish.

“Thanks, guys,” he says, “you’re both lifesavers!”

“Have a good day!” Annette calls, waving, and Sylvain lifts one of the cups in a _cheers_ motion as he makes his way out of the shop.

He chances a glance through the window as he passes it. Dedue’s head turns swiftly and Sylvain hums, mood lifted. 

The walk to where he normally meets up with Felix goes quicker than usual. He’s got a pep in his step that carries him to the main history building and up the stairs to the student lounge. Felix’s first lecture of the morning starts in fifteen minutes, and Sylvain’s unsurprised to see him already packed up at the table they normally take up. He’s scrolling on his phone, frowning, looking like he had just gotten out of bed instead of being awake for close to two hours.

"I have found my new favourite coffee shop," Sylvain declares, in lieu of greeting.

Felix peers up at him grumpily, holding his hand out for the tea. It's an Almyran blend Sylvain knows is his favourite, and when he takes the first sip, Sylvain can see him trying to find a way to insult it.

Instead, he shrugs, settling for, "It's decent. Why do you like this place so much? Besides. . _.that_."

The look Sylvain's cup of iced coffee gets is with barely concealed disgust. 

"This is the best coffee I've ever had," Sylvain says, taking a long, obnoxiously drawn out sip from his drink. "Plus one of their baristas is hot."

Felix makes a noise of disgust, rising to his feet and grabbing his bag. "I'm not listening to this."

"You are, though, because I haven't gotten a _'thanks for the tea, Syl, you're the best._ '"

Felix flicks his eyes in a roll. "Thanks for the tea. I have class."

"Oh, then it's so good we're headed the same way!"

Sylvain ignores Felix's muttered protests and mild threats as they walk deeper into the building. Sylvain technically doesn’t need to be anywhere for another half hour, but pestering Felix with the news of this coffee shop is better than loitering in the longue. He describes the shop's aesthetic and homey atmosphere, and describes in vivid detail how nice he thinks it'd feel to have the tall barista's thighs wrapped around his ears.

Felix's own ears are bright red by the time he hastily branches off to hurry to his class, throwing a not nice gesture over his shoulder as Sylvain gives him a wink and calls, "You don't want to know his name?"

**.**

He goes to the shop every morning he has to be on campus after that. Nearly a week and a half into it, he’s found a better rhythm with flirting with Dedue while also learning more about the others that work the morning shift. Even on the small occasions Dedue’s in the back or on break when Sylvain shows up, he enjoys talking with Annette and Ashe, and they seem particularly excited to talk to him about whatever’s on their mind. Dedue’s studying botany, though he hopes to one day open up a flower shop. Annette tells him one day, when Dedue’s on break, that the plant life around the shop is solely due to him, though all of the workers pitch in to take care of them. She’s attending school in the hopes of becoming a teacher; Ashe wants to be a vet. The only one out of their ragtag opening crew _not_ attending the university is the shop’s owner, Mercedes, who has a gentle voice and always giggles when Sylvain leaves his change in the tip jar.

It's odd how much he cares. Normally he'd have flitted on by this point, finding someone else to have a few moments of entertainment with before moving on to the next. But with Dedue it's different. Sylvain can't think of anything else but his calm demeanour, his gentle smiles whenever Annette or Ashe get enthusiastic in their explanations of what they've done the day before when Sylvain asks. He can’t think of anything but the way his eyes seem to linger, his mild exasperation when Sylvain’s flirting falls just slightly flat on a bawdy joke. 

He doesn't let himself think too much into it, though. Attraction aside, he likes talking to Dedue and the others. It’s a nice change of pace from his usual. It's probably for the best, that he's focusing on one person. He adds the coffeeshop into his daily routine, always stopping in during the week, only stopping in on one Sunday after a particularly long shift at the bar where Mercedes listens with a sympathetic smile about how he got snubbed on tips the night before.

While he is more than ready to just let everything fall into place, the others notice a difference. It doesn’t come up until Friday evening, the first Friday he hasn’t had to work in _months_ , because he’s convinced Dorothea to pay back her debt. Despite her own grumbling, she had relented, which meant Sylvain was clear to do nothing except lounge in the apartment. He isn’t expecting Felix to confront him moments after returning home from working out with Dimitri, but as soon as his bag hits the floor, Felix is staring him down while Sylvain remains sprawled on the couch.

"You've been sleeping here more often."

Sylvain glances up from his Switch, gaze going to where Soup is perched across the back of the couch, as if the dozing cat might have answers. He’s barely moved since Felix walked in, just giving a soft _mrrp_ when Felix pet him. Now, he’s settled back down, his loud purring doing nothing to give Sylvain any clue as to what conversation he’s about to leap into. He turns back to Felix, baffled.

"I live here?" he offers.

Felix rolls his eyes. "But you've hardly ever spent as many nights here as you have," he states. "Not in a row. You're normally—out." He gestures, vaguely, already going pink in the cheeks. "With your _conquests_."

Sylvain lifts an eyebrow. "You're mad I'm not sleeping around as much?"

Felix makes a terse noise. “I just want to know what you did!” 

“Why do you assume I’ve done something?” he asks. 

“You’ve been acting strange for a while. And you’ve started keeping cash on you!” 

“Felix—”  
“You’ve _never_ kept cash on you! You always throw your tips right into an ATM!” 

_“Felix_.”

Felix frowns at him, crossing his arms before wrenching his gaze away. “Even Dimitri’s noticed your behaviour’s changed.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Sylvain says. “I’ve just been going to a coffee shop and paying in cash there for their tip jar.”

“Hm.” Felix’s eyes flick back to him. “The one where you were obsessed with the baristas?”

“With one of them,” Sylvain corrects. “The others are nice, though. It’s the one I got you that Almyran blend from a few weeks back, with the best coffee.”

His eyes narrow, arms uncrossing just so he can pet Soup, who meeps sleepily but settles. “ _Hmm.”_

Sylvain pauses, watching him briefly before turning back to his game. “We could go tomorrow morning, if you’re not busy. Mercie said she works the opening shifts on Saturday.”

“Mercie?” 

“She owns the shop,” Sylvain says. “Very nice. Let’s me whine to her.”

“Ugh.” Sylvain doesn’t need to look to know Felix is rolling his eyes. “She’s only letting you whine because you’re a paying customer.”

Sylvain shrugs. “Maybe.” He glances up. “You want to go?” 

“. . .Fine. But I’m meeting up with Dimitri later tomorrow, so it’ll have to be early.”

Sylvain hums. "'Course you are." Before Felix can give him a response to that, his face already contorting in indignance, Sylvain barrels on, "Everyone there thinks Soup is adorable."

Felix stops short. "What?"

"I've shown them pictures. That guy you got him from works there. Ashe. You remember?”

Sylvain glances up when Felix has gone quiet. His expression has morphed to bafflement, as if he has no idea what to make of the news. Sylvain can’t fully blame him, but he does crack a smile at the expression, which knocks Felix out of his own head.

"I can't believe you've been sharing pictures of my cat with _strangers_ , Sylvain."

"Ashe literally handed over the adoption forms you signed. What do you want from me?"

Felix just grumbles, scooping Soup up from his perch. The cat meeps a mild protest, but Felix stalks down the hall towards his bedroom with him in tow.

**.**

Felix wakes Sylvain at the crack of dawn. He’s more of a morning person than Felix is, but even he knows there’s still plenty of time. When he points out they’ve got nearly an entire hour before the shop opens, Felix insists he doesn’t _care_ , but he does relent to sitting on the couch with his arms crossed as Sylvain makes them a quick breakfast before they head out.

Mercedes is just turning the _open!_ sign in the door when they walk up, Felix peering at the flowers in suspicion. Mercie beams when she spots him through the glass and opens the door for them.

“Well, good morning, Sylvain!”

“Mercie,” he drawls, giving her a mock bow that has her giggling behind her hand. “You look lovely as ever.”

“You’re sweet,” she says, eyes crinkling. “What brings you here on a Saturday?”

“My roommate wanted to see the place that makes the best Almyran tea in the city.”

Felix scoffs, but Mercedes either doesn’t hear it, or doesn’t let it get to her. She sweeps around to head behind the counter, already grabbing a cup for Sylvain’s drink. Before Felix can place his order in, the swinging door opens, and Ashe bursts through, carrying a tray of pastries. 

“Oh!” 

His eyes light up when he spots Felix, and Sylvain’s surprised by how quickly the two start talking. Felix hardly ever chatted animatedly with his _friends_ , let alone someone who was basically a stranger, but as Ashe starts making their drinks, and Sylvain takes out his wallet to pay, he listens as the conversation delves past cats into _swords_ of all things.

Mercedes finishes ringing up their drinks, and she rolls her eyes playfully when Sylvain pulls out a few extra bills from his wallet to slip into the tip jar. Ashe hurriedly hands her the iced coffee to give to Sylvain before rushing back down to where Felix is loitering at the end of the counter.

“You know, he's not in on Saturdays," she says, eyes twinkling with slight mischief as she looks down at the jar. 

Sylvain throws a hand over his chest in mock offense, which has her giggling. "He isn't the only reason why I come here." He pauses, glancing down to where Ashe and Felix are still talking about swords, before returning his eyes to Mercedes. "What do you think my chances are of him accepting my number if I offer it on Monday?" 

She hums, lifting her hand to tap at her chin. "Slim."

Sylvain all but pouts. "Mer _cie_." 

She waves a hand, voice kind when she explains, "He does talk about you after you've gone, but there is the whole you being a customer thing." 

"What if I get a job here?" 

She laughs, the sound delightful. "I don't think that's a good idea." 

"I work at a bar," Sylvain says. "Can't be too different." 

"I think he'd rather you keep your life yours, Sylvain," she says. She moves, going to the pastry case. Sylvain watches as she pulls out a tart with the tongs, placing it in one of the little boxes to hand over the countertop. "You're a very sweet man," she tells him, and Sylvain already feels the urge to protest that on the tip of his tongue. "It just takes a bit for him to warm up to others. He’s unsure how to express himself with words. Just give him a bit more time, alright?" 

Sylvain's lips part, his hands taking the box. He's about to protest Mercedes' assessment of him being sweet anyway, but Felix's voice catches him. "I have to meet up with Dimitri," he reminds him. 

Sylvain nods, smiling sheepishly. "Right." He nods to Mercedes, gathering his drink and the pastry box. "Thanks. I'll see you next week.” 

“Have a good day, Sylvain,” Mercie says, waving as he and Felix head towards the door, Sylvain calling a, “Bye, Ashe!" over his shoulder as they go. 

They head out onto the street, the city just starting to wake up as they walk back to their apartment. Felix snuggles deeper into his jacket, sipping the tea, almost scowling. Sylvain rolls his eyes, taking a long sip of his own coffee, delighting in the biting cold that lingers on his lips as he bumps his shoulder into Felix’s.

“What? You didn’t have fun?” 

Felix huffs. “It was fine, I guess.”

“You _guess_.” 

He shrugs. “I don’t see the appeal of you going there every damn day of the week.”

“I _like_ talking to people, Felix,” says Sylvain, grinning at the look that he receives. “I spend about as much as I normally did on dates there a week, so, really, I think it’s a win-win.”

“Hmph.” Felix takes another sip. “Whatever.”

“The tea’s good, though, yeah?”

Another pause. Another sip. “. . .Yeah.”

“Then it’s good?” 

Felix frowns, looking like he’s trying to dredge up any excuse not to agree. After another moment, he sighs, relenting. “I guess.”

**.**

“I’m _bored_.” 

Sylvain snorts, glancing back through the small window that leads to the kitchen behind the bar. Claude leans against the frame, eyes flitting out over the dimly lit bar that’s got three people in total inside, one of which is Dorothea, who’s begrudgingly wiping down tables to have _something_ to do. It’s fairly early in their shift, and on a Tuesday, there’s no one there to order food. Sylvain’s been keeping the old man at the end of the bar happy by refilling his bourbon when he runs through it, but that’s largely been it. There’s no late dinner rush in the middle of the week, which means less things for them to do.

The bar itself is never really _busy_. Most of the people that show up are regulars. Their busiest nights are Fridays, where they get what they _call_ a rush, though it’s never anything overwhelming. The atmosphere of the bar doesn’t really appeal to anyone their age. The only students he’s ever seen are women who have fled the clubs, but still want drinks before they go home for the night. They never show up on Tuesdays, though, which leaves all three of the workers on duty bored out of their minds.

“I can’t help you there, buddy,” Sylvain tells him, when Claude huffs another whined breath.

“Yeah, you can. Tell me more about your crush.”

Sylvain splutters, glancing over to him. Claude’s got a mischievous expression, eyes narrowed in that way that tells Sylvain if he’s not careful, he’ll be walking into a trap. Which is ridiculous. He’s told Claude about Dedue, but never framed it as a _crush_. He doesn’t get crushes. He’s not sure he can feel anything more than attraction, and even then, it’s fleeting. Whatever he’s feeling for Dedue is a bit _more_ , but definitely not a crush.

He tells Claude as such, who just nods along, as if he’s humouring him more than anything.

“But you’ve been focused on him for how long now? A month?” 

“That doesn’t mean it’s a _crush_ ,” he rebuffs. 

Claude hums, propping his chin in hand as he peers at him. “Syl, I think your definition when it comes to these types of things is seriously skewed.” 

“I don’t know what we’re talking about,” Dorothea declares, sweeping behind the bar and tossing her rag in the bin, “but Claude’s right, and you’re wrong, Sylvie.”

“Wow, thanks,” Sylvain says, as Claude winks at her.

“Thanks, ‘Thea, always know I can count on you,” he drawls. “We’re discussing Sylvain’s crush.”

“It’s not a crush—”

“You have a crush? On who? Is it that barista still?”

Sylvain gives Claude a look. “I can’t tell you anything, can I?”

“Hey, in my defense, you never said it had to stay between us, and, also, have you met my girlfriend? Hilda can smell gossip coming from a mile away, and she _thrives_ on it.”

Sylvain rolls his eyes, waving them off as the man at the end of the bar lifts his now empty glass. “It’s not a crush,” he says. “I just think he’s hot.”

“Mm-hmm.” 

Dorothea gives him a narrowed look but Sylvain can’t catch whatever she whispers to Claude as he goes to refill the old man’s drink, accepting the money he slides across the bar for his grand total, and thanking him when he tells him to keep the rest for tips. When he makes his way back, Dorothea’s still peering at him, assessing, her manicured nails tapping against the bar top.

“What?”

“Have you asked him out yet?” she asks. “Because normally once you do, you stop feeling _feelings_ for people.”

“I have not,” says Sylvain, “because I may be a lot of things, but a creep who asks out a barista while they’re working is not one of them.”

“Oh.” Dorothea’s brows furrow. “Yeah, I suppose that’s true.”

“Anyway, as thrilling as this conversation is,” Sylvain drawls, “I’m going to go on my break while we’re dead. You two gossip to your little hearts’ contents.”

“We’re just worried!” Claude tells him.

“Don’t be. I’m a big boy, I know what I’m doing.”

“You definitely don’t when it comes to more than flings, Sylvie,” says Dorothea.

Sylvain huffs. “Break. Leaving. Bye.” He lifts his hand in a wave, ignoring the twin eye rolling from Dorothea and Claude. 

As he makes his way back to the breakroom, he pulls his phone out, sending a text to Felix, lamenting about being bullied at work.

All Felix sends him back is a simple, _good_.

**.**

Sylvain is late. 

He’s technically not late for his classes, but he’s later than he normally is to the coffee shop. He blames the weather. The thunderstorm had rolled in unexpectedly, startling him while he had been in the shower. He had gotten ready quickly, anxiously texting Felix and Ingrid to make sure they were safely on campus and properly dressed for the rain. 

He’s got an extra umbrella thrown into the backseat of his car for Dimitri. He didn’t have to ask him about needing one. 

When he’s gotten answers, he’s already running behind schedule. He’s never driven to the coffee shop before, and finding street parking is a pain even on the nicest days. He finds a spot relatively close, tugging out his umbrella as soon as he’s out of the car. There’s a few people on the street, but most of the city’s populace is in cars, based on the heavy traffic lingering in the street. 

The familiar sight of the flowers lining the archway just beneath the awning lifts his mood instantaneously. He shakes his umbrella out just outside before ducking through the door.

“Good morning, Sylvain!” Annette calls from behind the counter.

Sylvain lifts his hand in a wave, wrapping his umbrella up and leaving it in the rack at the door. There’s two people in line, though the first has already moved down, and Annette’s busily ignoring their drink to greet him, up until the water overflows and hits her hand. She yelps, quickly rushing to fix it, while Sylvain stamps his feet on the mat just inside the door, before heading to join the queue in front of the counter.

Dedue’s standing at the register, taking orders for a man in a business suit, whose umbrella has dripped a trail across the floor. Sylvain dips out of line to grab some napkins and wipe up as much as he can, glaring daggers at the man in front of him, who’s still chattering away on his phone as he orders in a condescending tone. 

Dedue gives him the tiniest of smiles when Sylvain steps up. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Sylvain greets, grinning. “It’s a nightmare out there.”

Dedue glances towards the windows, humming. “It came as a surprise to all of us. Do you want your usual, or something warm?” 

“I—.” He pauses, thinks it over. “Something warm might be good. You have something in mind?”

“I believe I do,” says Dedue, huffing a quiet noise that could’ve been a laugh. “It depends on if you trust me or not.”

“Oh, I definitely trust you.” 

Dedue rings him up, and they go through their standard ritual of Sylvain putting his change in the tip jar. Annie’s just finished off the drink of the businessman who is _still_ dripping across the floor and Sylvain moves to mop up the rest of it as Dedue goes to make his drink. There’s no one else in line, and Annette pops herself over the counter to peer at him while he’s squatting down to wipe the floor. 

“You don’t have to do that,” she says.

Sylvain shrugs, tossing the napkins away. “Might as well make sure not all guys look like asses.”

She giggles, reaching out to hand him one of their hand wipes, which he accepts with a thanks. She glances over to where Dedue’s making his drink, and jolts slightly when a clap of thunder rumbles overhead. Sylvain pushes a hand through his hair, glancing out the windows to see the rivulets cascading down the building.

“It’s still super bad out there,” Annette sighs. “It’s going to be a mess walking to campus.”

Sylvain frowns. “Do you have an umbrella?”

“I do, but I don’t think it’ll help much with the wind.” Her eyes go over him. “Especially with the wind.”

“Hey, I’m not that damp,” says Sylvain, “but I get it. When are you off?”

“In half an hour. Maybe it’ll let up by then.”

Sylvain has his doubts. It’s been pouring steadily for nearly an hour and a half. He shakes his head. “I was just going to go dick around on campus until my ten o’clock,” he says. “I can stay here and give you a ride.”

Her eyes light up. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, I don’t mind. We’re going to the same place.” 

Dedue’s appeared behind her with his drink, his eyes watching Sylvain with an indecipherable look on his face. Sylvain smiles as he takes the drink, thanking him, before turning his attention back to Annette.

“I mostly spend my day in the history building, but I can drop you off wherever you need to go.”

“Oh, that’s like thirty steps from the building I need to go to! Are you sure you don’t mind?” 

“I don’t,” he says, smiling to reassure her. 

Dedue’s still watching him when he moves to the corner. He’s never actually sat down and spent time in the shop. There’s only a few other patrons inside, and he settles in the corner table next to the window, alternating between watching the rain and people hurrying around outside, or scrolling through his phone.

A few customers come into the shop, leaving just as quickly, while Sylvain sips leisurely on his drink. He’s never been one normally for hot drinks outside of winter, but Dedue knew his tastes well enough by now that the coffee was just on _this_ side of too-sweet, which made Sylvain smile every time he took a sip. 

Ashe comes in when it’s almost time for Annette’s shift to end, shaking himself off under the awning outside before ducking in. He does a double take when he spots Sylvain at the table, though he smiles and waves before rushing through to head to the back. 

Annette calls over to him moments later, letting him know she just had to clean up and she’d be good to go. Sylvain shoots her a thumbs up, tidying his own trash. Dedue’s still staring at him, inscrutable, when he heads to linger by the counter.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Dedue answers, tilting his head. “It’s kind of you, what you’re doing.”

“What? Giving Annie a ride so she’s not soaked to the bone as soon as she steps outside?”

Dedue nods. “You didn’t have to offer.”

“We’re going to the same place,” Sylvain says, shrugging. 

“Mmn.” Dedue’s eyes narrow. “I have a feeling you would’ve offered even if you weren’t.”

Sylvain gives another shrug. Dedue smiles, briefly, but it’s gone in a moment when he glances over his shoulder at Annette bursting through the swing door. She’s got a giant, puffy jacket on, and Sylvain grins at the sight of her waddling out in a marshmallow coat. One of her hands is gripping an umbrella, the other holding tight to the backpack on her shoulder. She hurries over to kiss Dedue’s cheek in farewell before she sweeps around the counter.

“Thanks again, Sylvain, I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says. “It’s not a problem.”

“I’ll text you when I make it to my class, Dedue!” she tosses over her shoulder, as Sylvain gathers his umbrella from the rack by the door.

He gives Dedue a wave, feeling his eyes linger as he and Annette step out into the storm. The rain hasn’t let up in the slightest, and Sylvain keeps a steady grip on his umbrella to protect them from the worst of the torrential downpour. 

His car isn’t far, and he holds the passenger door open for Annette, shielding her with his umbrella as she clambers inside.

“You’re not going to murder me, right?” she asks, when Sylvain’s settled in the driver’s seat and his umbrella’s tossed in the back.

He startles at that, starting the car and cranking the heat for her. “What?”

“I mean, we’ve known you for a while, but you _are_ technically a stranger still,” she says. “I don’t even know you’re last name.”

“It’s Gautier,” he says, still baffled.

She nods, face serious. “Mine’s Dominic. I just want to make sure you’re not going to murder me.”

“I’m not going to kill you, Annie.”

“Good!” She settles back in the seat, adjusting the belt over her chest. “Dedue would be upset. So would Mercie.”

He snorts. The drive to campus is much shorter than any kind of walk, though they still spend the duration of it talking. Annette asks after Soup, and Sylvain asks her about her schoolwork. She’s studious, and determined to get good grades. When she asks after Sylvain’s studies, he tells her more than he has before. He had only told them about switching majors after his second year, which set him back a year.  
He leaves out his parents cutting him off after the switch, knowing Annie doesn’t need that information to dampen the mood. 

He pulls into the parking lot close to the buildings they need to go to barely moments later. There are students sprinting across the sidewalks, using jackets as shields, some just suffering their fates, and others smart enough to have grabbed umbrellas strolling casually in the midst of the storm.

“Wait!” Annette says, when Sylvain’s parked. 

He’s made no move to do anything besides unbuckle, but he stops, glancing to her, lifting an eyebrow. “What?”

“Give me your phone.”

His other eyebrow lifts. “What?”

“I owe you for this—”

“You definitely don’t.”

“—and I can text you the next time Mercie’s got a pastry experiment going on and need taste testers.”

Sylvain’s already pulling his phone out, but the offer _is_ nice enough for him to relent faster. “You don’t owe me.”

She sticks her tongue out, making a grabby motion. Sylvain pulls up a new contact for her to fill in, and laughs when he gets it back and sees a string of emojis following _Annie_ in the device. 

“You going to make it to your class alright?” he asks.

“I’ll text you when I get there, too,” she says, smiling. 

He makes sure she waits as he climbs out of the car, grabs his umbrella and the spare he had snagged for Dimitri, and hurries to the passenger side. Annette beams at him as he keeps her covered as she climbs out, opening up her umbrella.

“I feel like a princess,” she says.

Sylvain bows, and she laughs, kissing his cheek. “I’ll see you later!” 

Sylvain watches her until she’s disappeared around the bend, sticking the second umbrella under his arm as he pulls his phone out, texting Dimitri and asking where he is. Dimitri’s answer is immediate, and Sylvain hurries off to find him, half-soaked and halfway underneath Felix’s umbrella when he arrives. 

“Thank you, Sylvain,” Dimitri says, accepting the umbrella. 

Felix rolls his eyes, stepping away to stay soldily under his. “You mother-hen all of us _except_ Dimitri?”

“I already knew he wouldn’t have one,” says Sylvain, grinning. “Planned ahead.”

Dimitri’s face colours. “I gave my umbrella to a friend when she misplaced hers.”

Sylvain pats him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, buddy, I’ve got extras for all of you.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “They take up all our closet space.”

“Better than the swords in your closet, Fe,” Sylvain states, ignoring the glare he gets in response as he takes a few steps backwards. “I’ve gotta get to my lecture, though, so I’ll see you guys later!” 

Dimitri lifts his hand in a wave as Felix rolls his eyes, turning on his heels. He’s just turned around to head to the building when his phone buzzes and he pulls it out. Underneath the heart emoji she had sent herself from his phone, there’s a new message from Annette, informing him she had arrived safely, with minimal water damage to her marshmallow coat. 

With a grin, he slips the device back into his pocket and goes on his way.

**.**

While there’s no rain in the forecast for the day, clouds still hang heavy overhead. There’s plenty of puddles lining the sidewalks and streets. The front of _Coffee Blossoms_ does nothing to make Sylvain think it’s any different day, but it’s far busier inside than usual when he glances through the window. 

Sylvain pushes open the door, listening to the gentle chime of the bell as he steps inside. He can’t stop the smile on his face when he spots Dedue at the register, Annette behind the counter with him, rushing to and fro. There’s an actual line this morning, the busiest Sylvain’s ever seen the shop on a weekday, and Annette looks downright _frantic_ as she hurries to make drinks. Sylvain all but bounces to stand in line, rocking his weight onto the balls of his feet. Dedue glances up, eyes grazing over the three people in front of him, and when they land on Sylvain, a tiny smile curls his lips up.

Sylvain would do _anything_ to keep that smile on his face. 

Dedue brings his attention back to the customers in front of him, and Sylvain glances around. There are plenty of people at tables, milling about with their drinks. The door chimes a couple more times while he waits, and the people shamble up to stand behind him, but Sylvain’s focus keeps straying back to Dedue. 

When it’s Sylvain’s turn, he lifts his hands up, spreading his fingers. Annette’s frazzled, and she’s doing her best, but he knows unless Dedue gets a _reason _she won’t accept any extra help.__

__“Go help her,” he says. “I can wait.”_ _

__Dedue huffs a tiny laugh, smiling that little smile again. “Thank you. You want your usual, I presume?”_ _

__“You know me,” Sylvain drawls. “I’m a creature of habit.”_ _

__Dedue rolls his eyes, though he seems fond, and breaks away from the register to help Annette finish the drinks before him. She huffs about there being a line, stops short when she spots Sylvain, then laments about how he shouldn’t be ordering Dedue around. Dedue takes all of it in stride, the picture perfect of _calm_. The person directly in line behind him starts tapping their foot, but Sylvain is nothing if not patient when it comes to Dedue. He has a nearly two month track record of doing nothing _but_ waiting. He’s more than happy enough to give him the time he needs to make sure Annette doesn’t overwhelm herself._ _

__As soon as the last drink is in Annette’s hands, Dedue is back at the register, grabbing a cup to mark down Sylvain’s order. Sylvain pays as he usually does, dropping the change he gets into the tip jar with Annette’s curly writing all over it._ _

__“Thanks, darling,” he says, winking, and he swears he sees red colour Dedue’s cheeks, but he doesn’t have time to dwell as he steps away to let the person behind him order._ _

__He watches as Annette grabs the cup for his drink, and pauses when she seems _surprised_ as she looks it over. She glances over to Dedue, then over to Sylvain, who lifts his hands in a wave. The grin he gets from her is equal parts elation and mischief and Sylvain has no idea _what_ is happening while she finishes making it. She’s still grinnnig as she hands him his drink._ _

__She practically sings as he takes it from her. “Here ya’ go!”_ _

__“Thanks, Annie,” he says, slightly perplexed. He looks over her head to find Dedue, but he’s looking away, which makes him frown before shaking his head. “Have a good day, you two!”_ _

__Dedue glances over, nods, and Annette beams._ _

__“Really enjoy that coffee, Sylvain!” she calls._ _

__Sylvain gives her another look, noting how she looks from his face, to the cup in his hands but he ignores it as he heads out. It’s only when he’s out the door, and taking the first sip that he notices there’s more writing on the cup than usual._ _

__Underneath where his name is written in Dedue’s now-familiar handwriting, is a phone number._ _

__He almost trips over his feet, looking up and through the window. Annette and Dedue are solely focused on their work, and he doubts they’d even notice the crisis he’s about to go through as the air rushes from his lungs in a long breath._ _

__He fumbles his phone out, narrowly avoiding a puddle in the midst of the sidewalk as he hastily types in the number. He sends a text of what Felix would deem a _mortifying_ amount of heart emojis. _ _

__He doesn’t get an answer until later, his attention focused on his phone even throughout the beginning of his day. Every time his phone buzzes, he lunges for it, but most of the time it’s the group chat he has with Ingrid, Dimitri, and Felix._ _

__The response he receives comes while he’s walking out of his first lecture, heading back to the lounge to meet up with Felix. His phone buzzes and the name at the top reads _Dedue_ , followed by a small string of blue heart emojis. The response is simple, just ‘ _Hello, Sylvain_.’ It makes him grin, though, and he keeps grinning throughout his time spent across the table from Felix, who scowls every time Sylvain’s phone buzzes._ _

__“Did you finally give up on your barista?” he asks, aggravation plain in his tone._ _

__Sylvain glances up from responding to Dedue, who’s on his way to the first class he has of the day. Felix stares, and when Sylvain just waggles his brows, he groans._ _

__“Fuck, seriously?”_ _

__Sylvain beams. “Patience paid off.”_ _

__“You’ve never been patient when it comes to your dates and you know it.” Felix talks while he packs his things up. “I can’t handle you being so—”_ _

__“Wonderfully happy?”_ _

__Felix sneers. “ _Insufferable_.” _ _

__Sylvain nods, looking down at his phone. “Right, because it’s been such a fun time watching you and Dimitri dance around each other—”_ _

__“Shut up!” he snaps, more flustered than angry as he throws his textbook in his bag. “I’m leaving.”_ _

__“Tell Dima I said hi.”_ _

__Felix makes another frustrated noise, practically stomping away.  
_ _

**.**

The logical next step, Sylvain knows, would be asking Dedue out on a proper date. Instead, they just talk, getting to know each other better more than they would in the brief time Sylvain spends at the shop every weekday. Annette, gossipmonger as she is, is almost as desperate for news about them as Sylvain’s own coworkers are. The mornings Dedue isn’t at the shop, she demands to know why Sylvain hasn’t _made his move_ yet, as if she lives and breathes on her coworkers’ lovelife gossip.

Sylvain, based on personal experience, knows that that’s commonplace in close knit workplaces. 

Still, Dedue hasn’t expressed any interest in moving beyond texting for now, and Sylvain’s waited this long, he can be patient a little longer. 

His patience comes to a screeching halt one night, when he's stuck in the midst of a nine hour shift with Claude and Dorothea as the only others on hand. He already knows how tonight's going to go—long and indescribably boring, but he'll take a boring shift to an overly exciting one. Since he's stopped trying to flirt his way into a warm bed, he spends most of his shifts doing his best to not over do his flirting, leaving it to Dorothea to collect most of the night's tips.

When the door opens, Sylvain glances over from the water spot he's wiping up, and feels his lips curl up. Dimitri walks in, glancing around almost nervously as Felix walks beside him, cheeks already red.

Sylvain jolts, the grin falling from his face immediately when he spots who follows behind them. Ingrid, he was expecting. She had been volunteered as the chaperone of Dimitri and Felix’s first official date, largely because Felix refused to call it such since they had been unofficially a _thing_ for the better part of a year and Dimitri either didn’t understand that that was what was happening, or just didn’t want to push his luck. 

What he is definitely not expecting is for Ingrid to be walking side by side with Dedue. 

Sylvain’s never seen him outside of the pressed button downs he wears under his work apron, always looking _this_ side of too-tight, much to Sylvain’s delight. He’s dressed casually tonight, in a cable-knit sweater Sylvain would very _very_ much like to steal. 

His mouth goes dry at the sight, and before any of the four of them can spot him at the bar, he makes a noise, and panics. Fleeing into the kitchen, he almost knocks Dorothea off her feet. Claude glances over, frowning.

“Watch the bar for a sec for me?”

“Wha—?”

He doesn’t wait to hear her answer, ducking through the kitchen doors into the breakroom and heading down mini-hall to the employee bathroom. He takes a moment, splashing water on his face, inspecting his hair. He has no fucking idea where Dedue met the others, nor how Felix could look him in the eye after listening to Sylvain rant about the barista to him for two whole months. 

Sylvain pauses with his hand halfway through his hair. 

He. . .actually can’t remember if he’s ever told Felix Dedue’s _name_ before.

He washes his hands, dipping out of the bathroom and back. Dorothea’s just slipping back through the swing door, and Claude’s busy at the stove.

“How do I look?” 

Dorothea’s nose wrinkles as she stares at him. “What?”

“How do I _look_?”

“. . .Fine?”

“Ugh, never mind. Claude, how do I look?”

Claude glances over his shoulder, flicking his gaze over him before shrugging and returning to whatever food he’s making.

“You two suck,” he declares, no true heat in his words.

Dorothea makes an affronted noise. “What? Is there someone out there you’re trying to impress? I thought you knew Ingrid and those. . . _others_.”

“‘Others,’” he echoes, unimpressed. “At least I can talk to Ingrid without my voice going into song from nerves.”

Dorothea’s face goes through six stages of emotions before settling on indignant. She smacks him in the face with her hair when she turns on her heel, flicking her long locks over her shoulder. “Bite me, Sylvie,” she coos, in a voice barely concealing her anger as she stalks back through the door. 

“Wow,” Claude says.

Sylvain makes a face, mutters under his breath, and slips out through the door, putting on his best _I Work For Tips_ smile.

The others are clustered at the end of the bar, Felix looking like he’s been dragged out unwillingly. Ingrid and Dimitri are talking, which leaves Dedue to spot him first. Sylvain watches his eyes widen in recognition, him sitting up just a bit more before murmuring something to Dimitri, who looks over and beams when he spots Sylvain.

“ _There_ you are,” Ingrid says, before he has a chance to say anything. “Dorothea said you ran to the back real quick.”

“Had to grab something,” he lies, grinning as he forces his feet to walk a _normal_ pace. “What’re you guys doing here?”

Felix pins him with a look, while Dimitri answers earnestly about wanting to get drinks after getting dinner, but visit him at work as well. Sylvain nods along at the explanation, trying to telepathically communicate with him to explain why _Dedue_ is with them.

“Oh! You haven’t met Dedue yet, right?” Dimitri, still smiling widely, turns to Dedue, who is still staring at Sylvain. “This is Sylvain. I’ve mentioned him, yes? Felix’s roommate.”

“You have never said a name before,” Dedue manages in an even tone. He smiles, regardless, that tiny smile that always makes Sylvain’s heart clench. “It is good to put a face to the stories I’ve heard.”

“Oh.” Sylvain’s smile falters. “Hopefully they’re good stories. I work for tips, and you people are _no_ exception.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “As if you’re not going to go dump your tips in the tip jar at that coffee shop you’re obsessed with.”

“Wh—?”

“Okay!” Sylvain claps his hands together. “What drinks do you want?” 

He only barely gets their drinks to them when Dimitri, ever helpful, informs him that Dedue, in fact, works at a coffee shop. Dorothea, who’s passing by to grab a drink for the table she’s waiting on, pauses when she hears that, tilting her head to peer at Sylvain without a word spoken. She’s certain to greet Ingrid as she passes by, but Sylvain feels her eyes on him throughout it, burning into whatever remains of his soul.

“Sylvain has decided to show off my cat to all of these random people, trying to get into one of their pants.”

“Sylvain,” Ingrid says, voice half a reprimand. “You can’t use other peoples’ pets to try to woo women.”

Sylvain huffs. “Okay, first of all, I am not trying to _woo_ anyone with pictures of Soup, the guy that Felix adopted him from works at the shop, and second, Ingy, not a woman.”

Ingrid’s mouth opens, but Claude’s voice calls out through the window before she can speak. “Hey! Stop playing favourites with the customers, Gautier!” 

He glances over his shoulder, spotting Claude’s smirk before he vanishes back into the kitchen. Sylvain lifts his hands, taking a step back from the others.

“Duty calls. Let me know if you need more drinks and if you want food.”

He moves back down the bar, passing the window and catching Claude’s wink. 

“I retract my earlier statement,” he tells him.

Claude just grins. 

The night passes smoother than he expected based on the first fifteen minutes of their arrival, but by her third drink, Ingrid’s abandoned the others to go chat with Dorothea, leaving Sylvain to flit back and forth from the bar to the tables ‘Thea’s ditched to play favourites with her. 

He tries to keep himself acting _normal_. Flirting is second nature to Sylvain, and he's used to doing it with his friends. Hell, he's used to it with Dedue, but he has no idea if he wants to have that be common knowledge with the friends they apparently share.

Every time he goes to refill the others’, Dedue’s eyes track him. Sylvain can’t say he minds. He had been planning to send a bombardment of questions when he went on break, but when Dorothea tells him to go before it gets too late, he figures it might end poorly if he does. Instead, he scrolls through their messages, trying to read between the lines to see if he had even hinted at ever knowing Sylvain knew Dimitri. 

When he slinks back out, Dorothea’s still giving her sole attention to Ingrid. Sylvain shakes his head as he passes by where they’re camped out, away from the noise of the others, and when he’s spotted him, Dimitri waves him over to pay off their tab. Sylvain walks down, ignoring the card Dimitri tries to hand him in favour of frowning at the three of them. 

“Tell me you’ve got an Uber coming.”

They’re not drunk, not by a long shot, but they’re well into tipsy levels, except Dedue, who's been keeping it to mostly non-alcoholic. Sylvain can see the blush coating Felix’s face from the drinks he’s had. Even Dimitri’s got colour, high on his cheekbones, but he just smiles at Sylvain’s statement.

“It’s a _Lyft_ ,” Felix states, snorting. “We’re not stupid.”

“It’s my responsiblity to make sure you guys don’t do anything stupid,, ever, but especially when you’re even the slightest bit drunk.”

“You’re stupid,” Felix grumbles under his breath, crossing his arms. 

Sylvain rolls his eyes. “Love you, too, Fe.” He glances down towards where Ingrid is still talking to Dorothea. “You’re taking her with you, right?” 

“Yes,” says Felix. “Just take Dimitri’s money and go away, Sylvain.”

“I work here, Fe, you guys chose to come here.”

"We wanted to see you!" Dimitri insists, as earnest as ever. 

Sylvain rolls his eyes, reaching out to pat his head and going for Felix's even though he spots the swat coming before Felix’s hand has even reached out. Sylvain laughs it off, taking Dimitri’s card to go pay off their tab. Dimitri calls for him to add a hefty tip, which Sylvain quirks a brow at, but adds. He’ll pass most of it off to Dorothea and Claude, like he normally does whenever Dimitri shows up at the bar with his inheritance. 

He can’t stop the smile he gives Dedue when he saunters back, watching the red dust across his face from more than just the alcohol in his blood. Dimitri and Felix are too wrapped up in each other to notice, but Ingrid’s making her way back over, which leaves Sylvain to glance over and spot Dorothea staring at him. _Again_. He brushes it off, bidding them all overdramatic farewells, which get varying degrees of acceptance from them. 

Dedue _smiles_ at him, though, and that makes it worth it. 

As soon as they’ve left, Dorothea’s on him, instantly.

“So, Dimitri’s friend is a _barista_ , hmm?” 

“A lot of people are baristas, ‘Thea, we live in a capitalist hellscape.”

She hums, curling a lock of her hair around her finger. “But not all are like the _mystery man_ you’ve been telling us about for what feels like forever now.”

Claude pops his head out through the window, grinning just as smugly as Dorothea is. “I was going to say, that man looked a _lot_ like the descriptions we’ve been given of your crush.”

“It’s not a crush,” Sylvain says. “I don’t get crushes.”

“Right, yeah,” says Dorothea, nodding, full of fake sympathy. “You just always get hung up on one person for nine weeks, and do nothing about it when you get their number.”

“I—” He stops, sighing out a breath. He looks towards the door, though he knows they’re long gone. “I didn’t know he knew Dimitri,” he admits, in a voice smaller than what he was aiming for. 

It must be the tone of his voice. The teasing goes straight out of Dorothea’s as she rests a hand on his shoulder blade, patting him comfortingly.

“Does that make it weird?” asks Claude, frowning over at them.

“It makes it. . .not great,” he says. “Sothis only knows the stories he’s heard about me—which are _true_ , but not. . .ideal.”

‘Thea hums, leaning close to rest her head against his shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I saw how he looked at you.”

Sylvain gives a laugh, rough and scratchy. “Yeah?”

She nods, hair shifting against his arm. “I think you’ve got a shot, Gautier. You’re not going to mess it up if you ask him on a date, you know that, right?”

“I’m not worried about the date part,” he says. He glances over his shoulder to smile at where Claude’s still frowning at him. “It’s always the _afterwards_ part I mess up.”

Dorothea makes a soft noise, drawing back. “Don’t doubt yourself, Sylvie. Those thoughts are bad for you, and you know it.”

He shrugs, taking in a breath to try to shake his thoughts off. When he glances over, she’s frowning, and so is Claude. He knows a lecture is ahead, but he smiles.

“Go take your break, ‘Thea, you pushed it off while Ingrid was here.” 

“We’re not done talking about this,” she declares, lifting her chin.

“Whatever you say, dear.”

The rest of the night passes slowly. There’s not much that happens outside of a couple more of their regulars floating in to take the edge off their day. They shut down right on schedule, getting everything prepped to properly close the bar down and clean up.

Dorothea plays music off her phone while they work. Closing is always when they’re most diligent, trying to get things done quickly so they can go home. Dorothea’s finishing the last of the tables, Claude’s just dragging the mop out, and Sylvain’s lifting the stools onto the bar when the door opens. It’s not usual for them to leave it unlocked before they set the alarm, but most people see the dimmed lights outside and keep walking.

He glances over his shoulder at the sound of it, frowning, fully prepared to tell whoever walked in to go home. He stops short at the sight of Dedue, one hand still on the door. Sylvain almost loses his grip on the stool in his hands, and scrambles to set it down without it clattering over the bartop.

He hadn't heard _anything_ from the others even hinting at Dedue coming back. The last text he had gotten had been from Ingrid three and a half hours ago, of her telling him she finally returned home after leaving Dimitri and Felix by themselves. Dedue had been radio silent, which Sylvain understands. Whatever he's heard of _Felix's Roommate_ had to have put a damper on whatever had been building between them, but he's standing at the bar, looking at Sylvain, still dressed in the sweater he really wants to steal. 

There is silence between all of them, the only noise Dorothea’s music still playing softly behind him. It takes Sylvain a half-second to put himself together, straightening his shoulders as he leans his hip against the bar, crossing his arms loosely.

“Did you—?” He stops, clears his throat. “Did you forget something earlier?” 

“Yes.” Dedue’s eyes flit from Sylvain to over his shoulder. He doesn’t need to check to know Dorothea and Claude have stopped what they’re doing to _watch_. “But, ah—. Perhaps it is best I wait until after you’re off work to ask about it.” 

“He’s off now!” Claude says, and he all but launches himself at Sylvain to wrap an arm around his shoulder. Sylvain yelps, but stays standing as Claude pulls him close. “He’s just finished, he’ll go grab his stuff, right now.” 

“Claud—.” 

“ _Right now_!” Claude repeats, giving him a look. 

Sylvain pins him with a look of his own, but Claude just slips down to grip him by the shoulders and turn him around. He shoves, resulting in Sylvain stumbling slightly. Dorothea’s bright eyes follow his movement, her lips curled up in a feline smirk.

He does _not_ want to leave Dedue alone with them, but he apparently has no choice. He tries not to think of all the things that Claude and Dorothea could tell him. He has his doubts they would. Despite how they tease and banter, he knows they have his best interests at heart. They’re nothing if not supportive, especially since Sylvain’s been talking about Dedue for two entire months.

Sylvain's nervous regardless as he walks into the break room. He throws on his jacket, grabbing his bag. He musses his hair, trying to keep his nerves from fraying. Dorothea's chatting pleasantly with Dedue when he slips out of the back and he almost turns tail and runs. A part of him tells him this is what he's been waiting for. Another part whispers that Dedue's heard the stories, that he knows Sylvain is worth nothing more than warming his bed for a night.

He'll take it, he decides. If that's all Dedue wants from him, he'll take it.

"So," Sylvain drawls, straightening his shoulders, trying his hardest to grin. "Shall we talk outside?"

Dedue nods, smiling that gentle smile that makes Sylvain's heart _ache_. It's a smile Sylvain wants to cherish, wants to see every time he closes his eyes. He bids Claude and Dorothea mild goodnights before they walk out the door.

"Did you drive here?" 

Sylvain shakes his head, leaning his elbows on the bar. "I normally walk if I can help it." 

"Hmm." 

Sylvain quirks a brow. "What? What is it?" 

"I could give you a ride home, if you'd like." 

_Oh_. Sylvain can't fight the flutter that statement fills him with. "Yeah?" he asks. "Mine or yours?" 

Dedue gives a languid shrug. "Dimitri and Felix are at your apartment.”

"Oh. _Hm_. Probably don't want to head back there, then." He glances over, waggling his brows. "They're _noisy_."

Dedue makes a choked noise that sounds like a startled laugh. “Then my apartment might be best?”

“Best idea I’ve heard all evening, darling.”

Sylvain keeps it together rather well as they walk to where Dedue’s parked up the street. The night air is chilled and damp, but he feels exceptionally warm as he walks beside him. He waits for Dedue to make even a hint of a move, but he’s nothing but chivalrous as he drives. The walk up to his apartment is kept with lightweight chatter, Dedue asking after the remainder of his shift.

Dedue lets him in first, and Sylvain nudges his shoes off at the entrance, setting them neatly next to a few other pairs of Dedue’s. He’s not surprised by the amount of plants that take up the living room, nor the cleanliness of the place as he looks around. Dedue shuts the door behind him as Sylvain takes stock of the main room and the kitchen just off of it. He doesn’t wander far, but he can tell the amount of cooking Dedue must do based on the amount of pans and pots hanging above the island.

He’s not entirely sure what happens between him noting that, and him shoving his tongue in Dedue’s mouth, but that’s where he ends up moments later. Dedue’s braced against the wall while Sylvain’s on his toes— _on his toes!_ —to keep them at equal heights.

Dedue tastes like vanilla, his lips slightly chapped. Sylvain would at the feel of his tongue tracing his bottom lip if he didn’t have his fists wound in the front of the cable-knit sweater. 

He loses track of time, rapidly. Dedue's hands wander, mapping down his sides, settling at his waist and the heat that pools in Sylvain at the feeling of how big they feel against him make him gasp against his lips. 

Dedue draws back, just enough to catch his breath, but Sylvain doesn't let him go. He moves to smear kisses down his jaw, nipping lightly over the skin just above his sweater's neck.

_"Sylvain_."

Dedue's voice rumbles out of him on a breathless sigh, his hands flexing against his hips. Sylvain pulls back, wanting to hear his name over and over.

"I'm here," Sylvain says, diving back in for another kiss.

Dedue's a fantastic kisser. Sylvain thinks he might be biased, after fantasizing about it for months, but he decides he doesn't care. 

Sylvain has another thought, when his teeth tug at Dedue's lip. This thought is far less pleasant. He sees how this goes, them stumbling through Dedue's apartment to his bed, what will undoubtedly be a night to remember, but after, he'll leave. He'll have to. He'll call an Uber and suffer the cold outside before hoping Felix and Dimitri have worn themselves out so he doesn't have to hear them enjoying themselves through the wall.

The thought makes him feel like a bucket's been upturned over his head. Ice shudders down his spine and he feels himself tense. 

Dedue does, as well. He pauses, pulling back. His hands are still warm against his hips, but his eyes aren't as lust-glazed as they had been as they search Sylvain's face.

“What's wrong?” he asks. 

“Nothing,” Sylvain says, immediately, putting a smile on his face.

Dedue’s brow pinches. “Sylvain.”

“I, ah—. I know what Felix has probably told you. I know why you came back to the bar.” At the startled look that Dedue gives him, he leaps to reassure him. “It's okay! I want it, I do—!”

“Sylvain.” 

“I always fuck this part up. I move too fast and ruin it, but that’s fine, I know that’s probably not what you—”

Dedue lifts his hand, gently trailing it up his side until he can cup Sylvain’s cheek in his palm. The affectionate gesture startles him to silence, despite how he leans into the touch. Dedue hums, contemplatively, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. Sylvain’s breath leaves him on a shaky exhale as he meets Dedue’s eyes.

“I have heard tales of your. . .exploits, yes. But Felix doesn’t just talk about that. It’s not all I’ve heard about you, nor is it all I’ve seen. You’re far more than you give yourself credit for.”

Sylvain blinks, startled. He huffs a laugh, drawing back. Dedue lets him, but keeps his hand on his face. Sylvain knows he’s fooled him. He’ll take whatever crumbs Dedue will give him, thankful for every second—

“I don't just want you for one night, Sylvain,” Dedue murmurs.

“You—. _Wh—_?”

“It's taken me far too long to gather myself to express what I've wanted,” he continues, smiling slightly, thumb rubbing a gentle pattern along his cheek. “Annette actually yelled at me the day you gave her a ride to campus about how you treated her. She told me I had been being silly with you, worrying about nothing. You were nothing short of respectful.”

“What? Of course, it was just a ride—”

Dedue smiles. “Yes, but it was something you went out of your way to do.”

“I definitely didn’t go out of my way.”

Dedue shakes his head, smiling still. “Not to mention before you offered, you cleaned up after that man who tracked water in.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m—”

“ _Sylvain_.”

He stops, quieting, glancing up to meet his gaze, chewing on the inside of his cheek to keep from interrupting when he begins speaking again.

“I fear neither of us have been very subtle with how we feel for one another—”

“Dedue—”

“I am not saying I do not want this,” he says. “I have wanted to tell you for quite some time how I feel. I’m not the best at words, though. The time never seemed right, either. I want you for more than what you could offer me physically.”

Sylvain lets out a shaky exhale. “I want that, too.”

Dedue smiles. “We don't need to do anything tonight. I’m more than happy to wait until you’re comfortable.”

The statement, the _out_ , makes him startle. He’s never gotten this far into a night to have that brought up. 

“It's late,” Dedue continues, not entirely oblivious to Sylvain’s innertumoil, based on how he gentles his the swiping of his thumb. “You've worked a long shift.” Another, tiny smile. “You should get some sleep, Sylvain.”

“ _Sleep_?” he asks, voice airier than he wants it to be.

Dedue nods. “I have some clothes you can borrow.”

Sylvain’s hands, which have fallen to Dedue's waist during this entire debacle, slip up, fingers lightly trailing over the fabric. His heart beats heavy in his chest, almost painfully aching at how Dedue’s treating him with such gentled affection.

"Can I borrow this?"

Dedue huffs a tiny laugh. "This? Not something clean?"

"I've been thinking about this sweater for nearly six hours now," Sylvain states, moving his hands back down to slip under the hem, delighting in the way Dedue lets him smooth his hands over his stomach. “Feels cozy.”

Dedue smiles, a breathtaking smile, one that Sylvain wants to kiss to feel the happiness from. "Alright."

Sylvain has never been a clothes thief. He's always wanted to, but he's always been the bigger or taller one of his friends. The only one who comes close to his build is Dimitri, and even then, Sylvain's always been the one lending him jackets or shirts. Dedue's taller, his shoulders broader, and when Sylvain slips into the sweater he knows he'll overheat in during the night, it feels _right_.

He sits on the edge of Dedue's bed while he dresses down for the night in the bathroom. Dorothea and Claude both have sent him texts, asking for updates, and he informs them both that he's fine. He's also texted Felix, which hasn't been read yet, unsurprisingly, that he won't be home.

When Dedue emerges from the bathroom, a small smile still curling his lips up, Sylvain can't stop himself, reaching up for him to drag him down into a kiss. It's languid, slow, promising that they've got all the time in the world. He curls his fingers through Dedue’s hair, now that it’s loose and falling. It feels like Sylvain’s imagined it countless times, thick and silky, his fingers running through it easily.

They settle back against the pillows, barely parting from one another for more than a few moments until Dedue draws back to press kisses along Sylvain’s forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose. He’s sleepy, content to bask in the warmth and affection. 

“Sylvain, you _should_ sleep.”

“Mmn.” 

He wiggles under the blankets, pressing closer to Dedue, tucking his head under his chin. Dedue’s chuckle rumbles through his chest, making Sylvain smile as he settles. Warm hands run over his back, smoothing down his shoulders and arms before Dedue contents himself with wrapping his arms around his waist.  
“Good night,” he murmurs, nuzzling against the warm skin at Dedue’s throat.  
He feels a kiss pressed to the crown of his head. “Sleep well.”

**.**

Sylvain wakes to sunbeams dancing across his face. He feels warm, almost to the point of discomfort, but it’s still a welcomed amount. The sweater he had slept in is long gone; he vaguely remembers slipping out of it at one point during the night before tucking himself back against Dedue. Everything around him is _soft._

A palm is against the hand he has curled loosely in front of his chest. Dedue’s other arm is slipped under his waist, holding him in an embrace to his chest. Sylvain shifts, carefully, blinking in the warm morning light. Dedue sleeps on as he twists to face him, even as Sylvain moves his hand to interlace his fingers with his. His hair looks golden white in the morning light, strands falling over his forehead, and Sylvain gently brushes them away. He brings their joined hands to his lips, pressing soft kisses against his knuckles until he feels the fingers tighten against his. Dedue’s other hand moves to press against the small of his back, and Sylvain looks up to see him blinking his eyes open, sleepy and warm.

“Morning,” he whispers, lips moving over his knuckles.

Dedue smiles. Sylvain feels his chest swell with a breath. Dedue’s voice is still thick with sleep, a gentle sound in the silence of the morning.

“Good morning,” he murmurs. 

And with how it sounds, falling from his lips, Sylvain believes him.

**Author's Note:**

> apparently all of my modern aus have to be extra self-indulgent! I don't know how this got to be as long as it did, but here we are!
> 
> come find me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/wintersrose616)


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